


the blind eye of the storm

by mckayla (steveromanov)



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:10:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6812686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveromanov/pseuds/mckayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Matt/Elektra drabbles prompted to me on tumblr. Each chapter title is the rating for that particular drabble and chapter warnings/prompts will also be included in the summaries. Thanks for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 25. “This is why you don’t ever have any shirts to wear.” + 18. bite. **Warnings** : sexual content, powerplay, marking/biting.

The hotel they’re staying in is expensive. The way the lobby smelled when they first arrived was the main giveaway: expensive champagne, a combination of Chanel perfumes, and saltwater.  _A fountain._ He hadn’t been aware there were such things as saltwater fountains, but sure enough, he can hear it right in the center of the room.

He really doesn’t need these things to know that it’s pricey, though. He’s with Elektra—it’s not like he expected the Holiday Inn.

For the first week they’re in London, they don’t leave their room. For the first day, they don’t even leave their bed. For the first fifteen minutes after they step foot in their suite, they don’t even leave the entryway, because Elektra shoves him up against the door before he even has a chance to set their bags down.

Now, Elektra noses underneath Matt’s chin, teeth and tongue sliding through the bristles of his stubble in a way that he knows would be uncomfortable to anyone else, but she likes how it prickles against her cheeks, skin, the tip of her tongue. He can hear it in the way her heart beats in her chest, pressed up against his; the minute hitch of her breath when he swallows and his adam’s apple slowly bobs against her bottom lip. 

She likes his facial hair, he knows. And the attention she’s showing it now isn’t the only way he does. Sometimes, in the mornings, he’ll feel her caressing his face before they’ve even left the bed; slide her whole hand down until it’s wrapped around his neck. But it’s gentle. Gentle in a way she rarely is around anyone, let alone him or even herself, so he just pretends that he’s still asleep and lets her get away with it. 

Other times, when he’s got her legs thrown over his shoulders and his fingers splayed over her hips, she shivers like he’s never felt whenever the stubble on his cheeks brush up against the insides of her thighs.  It has to be  _painful_ , because certainly no other woman he had in his bed besides her ever liked the feeling, but Elektra is no other woman. She is Elektra. And she—

“ _Ow—_ hey!” Matt scowls, but it’s not entirely mean-spirited. If biting was such a bother to him, they certainly wouldn’t be wrapped up in each other on their suite’s loveseat, not to mention in London altogether. And, well, Elektra’s bitten him in worse places.

“This is why you don’t ever have any shirts to wear,” she says lowly, pulling away so she can look at him. She doesn’t move far, but she does put their mouths close enough together that whenever either of them talks, their lips brush in a kiss.

Or at least Matt tries to kiss her, but Elektra teases him every time he attempts, so he just resorts to talking. He plays with the too-large shirt cuff resting just beneath her knuckles. “Because you’re always stealing mine?” He smirks.

“No, Matthew,” she ducks back down again, and as if to reiterate her point, she licks a hot stripe over where she’d bitten him before. “Because you’re always  _bleeding_.”

“In my defense, you’re always biting me.” He still has the hickey on his abdomen. And the one on his shoulder. And on his thigh. 

“You like it,” she says through her teeth, a bared smile.

He bows his head down and presses his face against her collarbone, smiling against her skin. The scratch and stretch of his stubble there makes her mewl softly. Yeah, he does sort of like it. But he likes the sounds she makes better.

He laughs, a beat of pleasure going down his spine, when he nips at her clavicle and she jerks in his arms and  _gasps_.

When she looks back down at him, her smile is primal. He can hear it in her voice, the excited pick-up of her pulse.

“You can do better than that, Matthew.”

He grins. 

Elektra’s laughter is full of delight as he flips them around on the couch so that she’s lying on her back and he’s hovering over her, nosing up her neck and relishing in the vibrations coming from her throat.   _His_ shirt that she’s wearing falls open with the sudden movement, and Matt splays his hand over her bare hip, thumb fiddling with the very edge of the hem of her panties—but it’s the way his stubble scratches against her throat that makes her actually  _purr_ , digging her nails into his scalp and tugging impatiently when all he does is smooth the itch away with teasing, chaste-like kisses against her skin.

He does this until she gets absolutely frustrated with it, letting out a low growl. “Well? Are you going to— _ah!”_

Matt smiles, the skin over her jugular still pinched between his teeth. He sucks hard enough so that he’s sure there’ll be a bruise later before letting her go with a soft pop, pulling back to give her a shit-eating grin.

“You were saying?” She scowls at him.

But then it’s replaced by a grin, wide and hot and  _hungry_. “Do that again.”

He obliges, not bothering to work her up as long as he did earlier before nipping the dip between her collar bone and sucking a bruise right over it immediately after. Elektra mewls, a mixture of laughter and a squeal as she arches against him and digs her fingers into the meat of his shoulders. It’s enough to encourage him to go lower, but just as his lips brush over the swell of one of her breasts, she’s moving as fast as lightning, shoving him on to his back and pouncing on him with all the grace of a panther. Matt grunts with the impact but doesn’t have a chance to do much more than that before she’s sinking her teeth into his chest, nipping sharply at his nipple and making him gasp out in half-pain, half-pleasure. When he tries to move them over again, Elektra just bites down— _hard—_ on the curve of his chin and smiles, pressing her knees into his rib cage in a challenge.

Well, Matt’s never backed down from a challenge. Proof of that is his occupation—both of them.

Matt wraps his hands around Elektra’s wrists and thrusts all his weight upward, rolling them off the couch. His shoulder shoves the coffee table aside as they fall to the ground and Elektra’s back hits the carpet with a thud, but she’s groaning and he’s not going to let her get the upper hand yet. He pins her down and attacks the valley between her breasts, biting the underside of them through the cups of her black bra and making her pant and squirm helplessly. They are, for the most part, equal in training, but Matt is stronger. Heavier. However, Elektra plays dirtier, and when he doesn’t release his hold on her body, she slams the heel of her foot into his lower back and takes advantage of the spike of pain that shoots up his spine by shoving him up and off of her. She makes quick work of disposing her shirt and tossing her bra across the room before springing again, clawing at his boxers and shoving them down his waist without much of his help.

They don’t  _always_ have sex like this, aggressive and a wrestle for domination, but it’s certainly been a recurring element of their love life ever since they first met each other. Sometimes they do have their tender moments of passion, and Matt loves that just as much as he loves this, but  _this_  is common ground. Like being taken back to that gym, back to the start, back to the first time he ever let anybody else besides  _Stick_  know his true self. And he knows Elektra feels the same way.

She bites her lip and digs the heel of her hand into his stomach as she sinks down on him; kisses him as soon as he’s completely seated within her, lips hot and seeking. Matt shoves a hand in her hair and grips the long strands between his fingers, making her nip at his tongue between her teeth and move faster, harder. He doesn’t complain, just groans and holds on, probably tight enough to leave bruises on her hips but that just excites her. 

He’s not going to last long, not with the way she’s moving above him, but she’s also too busy scratching red lines down his chest and propping herself up over him to bat away his hand when he snakes it between their bodies, thumb finding her and pressing  _hard_ , flicking back and forth. The sound she makes is almost like a howl, straightening and flinging her head back. It’s Matt’s turn to pounce, sitting up and catching her nipple between his teeth. Both the sudden change of angle and new source of pleasure has her shaking, panting harshly against his forehead. He reads the telltale signs of her impending orgasm beneath his ministrations, and all it takes is another press of his thumb, a sharp down-grind of her hips, and a slight scrape of his teeth against her nipple for her to go crashing over the edge. Matt follows, breathing heavily against her sternum and gripping her waist as his hips stutter beneath her. 

Elektra collapses on top of him as soon as he falls back down, but it’s not long before she’s sliding off him and lying at his side. She’s always had an alarmingly short refractory period, but she also always leaves him absolutely wrecked, so she just watches him with a smirk as he fights to collect his breath.

When he does, he tells her, “I’m going to feel all of that later.”

“Perhaps. But are you going to regret it?” She kisses the corner of his mouth and gets up before he can answer. Matt groans, feeling bone-tired and very much incapable of even  _thinking_  of moving right now. Still, he stares at her ass as she walks away, can’t help the tug of arousal in his gut as she glances coyly at him over her shoulder and moves to the kitchenette. “Because I don’t think you will, Matthew.”

He smiles lazily. Of course, she’s right. 


	2. T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 48. “It’s OK baby, I’m here for you.” **Warnings** : nightmares.

Nightmares.

Matt’s had them since he was a kid. Specifically, since the accident, and he’s relived it in his dreams more times than he can count on one hand. But that’s not all. On some nights, usually the worst ones, he finds himself in that alley again, the police lights reflecting so brightly off his face that he can almost taste them, feel them,  _see_  them. His father’s body, on the ground. The asphalt digging into his knees as he falls to them. 

Being blind has shaped Matt into the man he is today, no doubt about it. But only on one occasion has he been outright  _thankful_  for his inability to see, and that’s the night his father died. He doesn’t know how he would’ve handled seeing him like that. Lifeless. From what he overheard in the police station between two officers who were at least a few rooms away from him, it’d been brutal. Matt can’t remember his dad like that. He won’t.

But in his dreams, he sees. His imagination goes back to that night, and he can’t stop it. He fights, he tries to wake up, he tries to think of familiar, comfortable things that can make it go away. It’s like a litany of  _Foggy, Karen, Josie’s_ in his head. Over and over and over again until he jolts awake, shivering atop his sheets and soaked from head to toe in cold sweat. 

He sucks in long, heaving breaths that don’t exactly do their job, eyes registering nothing but—the ceiling, maybe, because he registers now that he’s on his back. And then the sound of breathing, stable and slow, reaches his ears. The faint smell of a flowery perfume fills his nose, one he can’t forget but can’t right process right now, either. Strong fingers touch his shoulder delicately. Tendrils of hair brushes his face as they lean in. And then a heartbeat, calmer, steadier, but  _louder,_ mixes in with his own erratic one.

He’d know that heartbeat anywhere.

“It’s okay, baby,” she says. She’s used that sentiment with him once, maybe twice, in college. Never now, and never so tenderly. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of hearing it, even if he knows she wouldn’t say it again if he asked later. “I’m here for you.”

Elektra slides into the bed with him, even though his skin is sticky and feverish. She gathers him in her arms with near effortless strength, drags him closer so that he can feel the rise and fall of her breasts against his shoulder blades. It helps calm him, but the steady thrum of her heartbeat against his back and in his ears is what finally grounds him, minutes later.

“Are you alright, Matthew?” She asks once his breathing has finally slowed.

Still, the nod he gives her is half-aborted, jerky. “Nightmare,” he explains, as if she didn’t already know that.

She reaches up and brushes the damp strands of hair away from his forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay,” she replies softly. She doesn’t push him. It doesn’t happen often, at least not as often as him, but Matt’s caught her in his position a few times, too. She never wants to talk about it, so he doesn’t ask. But there’s an understanding there that were she ever willing to, he’d listen. The same goes for her.  He knows that, eventually, they’ll have to stop compartmentalizing their issues if they want this to work.  _Really_  work. And he’ll be ready to do that soon. But right now, all he does is nod and squeeze her fingers when she murmurs, “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

Later, the nightmares don’t come back when he falls asleep with his head in her lap, her fingers gently stroking through his hair. And her heartbeat is like the lullaby that keeps them at bay.


	3. T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 42. “I miss her so damn much, and it’s killing me that she’s gone!” **Warnings** : canon major character death, set almost immediately post-season 2.

Foggy has spent Christmas with Matt every year for the past decade, whether he’s attempting to put together a holiday meal for the two of them at his apartment, or they’re eating takeout at Matt’s, or just getting completely sauced at Josie’s because Foggy can’t cook to save his life and the two of them aren’t in the mood for orange chicken. The fact of the matter is, it’s been just him and Matt celebrating the holiday for a long while now. Recently, it’s been him and Matt and Karen. But Karen’s working on her paper, and he hasn’t heard from Matt for the better half of a week. In a desperate attempt to not spend Christmas by himself for the first time in ten years, he almost calls up Marci.

He ends up at Matt’s doorstep, anyway.

When he answers the door, Matt looks like shit. Which, really, is nothing usual as of late, but no matter how many times their friendship is put through the wringer, Foggy will always worry about him. Right now he doesn’t have his glasses on to hide the serious dark circles around his eyes, his hair is unruly, his stubble has surpassed the level of barely-kempt, and he’s half-dressed. His torso is mottled with scars, bruises, and fresh wounds alike. It’s funny—out of the two of them, Foggy’s used to being the more disheveled one. But right now, Matt’s got him beat by a long shot.

Despite all his concerns, Foggy only manages a lame, “Hey, man.”

Matt nods, a small tick of his head. His jaw works, like he’s trying to hold himself together for the sake of his friend. “Foggy. Hi. Merry Christmas.” He lets out a long exhale and steps aside. “Would you like—you want to come inside?”

Foggy doesn’t take offense from the fact that Matt doesn’t seem entirely sure about his offer, but he suspects something’s up with him and walks inside anyway. Of course, Foggy’s seen Matt upset more than a few times since they’ve met. Not only does it come with the territory, but it also comes with being best friends, brothers. Besides a few select (and obvious) occasions, one of which happened on his very couch not even a whole year ago, Foggy’s only seen Matt really down once.

_College. Elektra._

They go into the living room. Foggy lowers himself into one of the arm chairs while Matt doesn’t even bother hiding how he nearly collapses on to his couch, but he does seem to regret it by the wince he gets as soon as he sits. It’s awkward for a while. Foggy doesn’t expect that their lives will be the same from now on, not knowing what they know, but he should’ve brought some food. Or alcohol. Yeah, the strong stuff would’ve made a fine peace offering. Shit. They don’t even have presents for each other.

What a Christmas.

“I’m sorry, Foggy,” Matt says suddenly, face creasing infinitesimally. He tries to hide it, but it’s almost like his expression fractures before he can even control it. “I’m sorry. For everything, i’m sorry.”

Foggy nods and glances out the window before realizing his mistake. “Oh, I—I just nodded. And it’s okay, you know? I forgive you. I’m not always comfortable with this secret life of yours, but I get it. It’s you.”

Matt’s expression cracks just the bit more. “I just needed to apologize. Before—before it’s too late.”

“That sounds cryptic,” Foggy smiles sadly.

It’s quiet for another long moment. Matt wrings his hands in his lap, bottom lip quivering slightly. Foggy itches to go over there and just _do something_ , but he suspects that this goes far beyond simply apologizing. 

Matt talks before Foggy can make up his mind.

“Elektra, she’s…” He swallows. “She’s dead, Foggy. Because of me. She died because of me. She died _saving_  me. And I can’t… I can’t have that happen again. Not to you. Or Karen. Anyone, Foggy, I—”

The walls finally break then. Matt absolutely crumbles, shoulders shaking as he curls into himself. Foggy shoots up like a bolt, closing the distance between them in a matter of seconds, and as soon as he sits down Matt leans against him, like he can’t bear to hold himself straight any longer. Foggy wraps his arms around him, grips his shoulder. Matt’s tears soak the collar of his shirt, makes it cling to his neck.

“I miss her so damn much, Foggy,” Matt gasps. There’s a rasp to his voice, like even after all this, he’s still trying to keep it together. At least, somewhat. “Even after what she did in college. Even the lies, and the… the… it’s killing me, Foggy. I miss her. This wasn’t supposed to—”

Foggy shakes his head, squeezes him harder. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure Matt would even want to hear it, that it’d make anything better. It probably wouldn’t. So he just holds his friend, his _family_ ; lets Matt cry and doesn’t try to stop him after he starts sucking in deep, painful-sounding breaths when he tries to stop the tears. 

When Matt _does_  stop, his breathing has died down to occasional hiccups and Foggy’s tie is blotted with wet marks. Matt’s quiet, his eyes blanker than usual, which unnerves him. He doesn’t like that look on his face, and how _could_  he? Matt’s, without a doubt, one of the strongest people he knows. And he just saw that resolve crumble with his very own eyes.

“I’m going to whip us up something to eat, alright?” Matt doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t protest when Foggy gently slides out from beside him and rests him horizontally on the couch. He starts to walk away but stops, looking down at Matt’s prone form. “I’m sorry, Matt,” he says quietly.

He walks into the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans and utensils by memory. He ignores the six pack of German beer in Matt’s fridge and brews tea. He shuffles through all the miscellaneous contents in the refrigerator, and it’s not until his fingers brush the back of it that he realizes he’s working on autopilot. The tea kettle is whistling in the background. 

He’s not the only one in here who’s not entirely put together.

Foggy closes his eyes and lets his forehead fall against the refrigerator door. _What a Christmas._


	4. G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 9. “You better have a good reason for waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn.” **Warnings** : none!

Usually it’s Matt who wakes first, rising out of bed just as the sun rises, grinning as Elektra groans and rolls over when his alarm clock trills and echoes in his bedroom. He’s not afraid to admit that he’s purposefully slow at silencing it, if only because the pout she gets on her face is kind of cute and more than amusing; the little furrow of her eyebrows casting a brief and strange innocence over her features before she’s already dozing off again.

But today’s different. His alarm hasn’t gone off yet, so he knows it still has to be dark outside when Elektra’s fingers skitter down his bare arm and the tips of her hair brush against his face as she bends over to whisper in his ear. He tries to ignore her, but the way she lightly rolls his earlobe between his teeth makes it damn hard.

“Come on, Matthew,” she sing-songs. He gives a half-hearted moan in response and can feel the way her lips stretch into a smirk after. “Get up. I know you can hear me.”

“You better have a good reason for waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn,” he mumbles into his pillow.

Her laugh sounds more like an amused hum. “I do. Put something more than your boxers on and meet me up on the roof when you’re done.”

Elektra’s gone before he can protest, so he spends another half minute in bed before tossing the covers back and climbing out with a small grumble. He fishes out a pair of sweatpants from his drawer and fetches his hoodie from where it’s hanging over the back of his chair, smelling faintly like Elektra since she’s practically confiscated it from his possession. After he ties his shoes and combs his fingers once through his bedraggled hair, he climbs up the stairs to the roof, avoiding the step he keeps neglecting to fix on the way. 

She doesn’t give him any clue to her exact location, but it’s never been hard for him to find her in a crowd—or in this case, a desolate rooftop—anyway. He makes his way over to where she’s standing in front of the edge, a small smile on his face at whatever she’s got planned even though he doesn’t have to be up for work for at least another hour and it’s more than a little chilly out here. However, the way Elektra’s pulse picks up ever-so-slightly tells him she’s excited, so it sort of makes it worth it. 

“You wanna tell me what this is all about now?”

“New York may be called the city that never sleeps, but everybody has to shut off at some point,” she replies. “I figure you should see it wake up.”

He smiles. “I don’t know if you know this, but i’m blind.”

He doesn’t have to see to know that she rolls her eyes. “Hush,” she says, wrapping her arms around his waist and huddling into his side. “Just _listen_.”

There’s no more teasing after that, though the smile doesn’t disappear from his face for a few moments before he decides to play along. The first thing he hears, of course, is the steady _thump thump thump_  of Elektra’s heartbeat, but he focuses past that until it’s the sound of cars passing by on the street below and birds squawking at the pier. And then the _real_  noises filter through; he hears his next door neighbor a floor below shuffling around her apartment, wishing her cats a good morning and opening and closing cabinets as she makes coffee. In the next building over, a mother helps her son get ready for school, and she’s stressed because he’s refusing to brush his teeth and making a fuss about having to change out of his Iron Man pajamas. Across the way there’s a nurse who’s just gotten home from a graveyard shift, and she tosses her keys on to her counter before turning on her shower and tiredly stripping out of her clothes. And a few blocks down, a man steps out of his building, whistling a tune before hailing a taxi to work. 

All of it actually brings a small smile to Matt’s face.

“Not bad, hm?” Elektra asks. “And I can assure you, the view’s pretty, too.”

“Never took you as the romantic sort,” he replies. “Always thought that was my job.”

“You don’t give me enough credit. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, Matthew.” She pauses a beat. It’s enough time for him to realize she’s going to start pulling his leg any second now. “Now let’s get back downstairs so I can make us breakfast.”

He grins. “I learned a long time ago that cooking is not one of those tricks you were talking about, sweetheart. Just because you can carve a turkey with scary precision doesn’t mean you belong in the kitchen.”

Elektra tips her head back and laughs.

“ _Fine_ , I’ll brew the tea.”


	5. M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 20. “H-How long have you been standing there?” **Warnings** : implied sexual content, Matt Murdock being a thirst trap, as per usual.

Elektra’s under no impression that Matthew hasn’t noticed her presence yet; she’s moves silently and gracefully by nature, but he has a given ability to detect every single thing that happens in his near vicinity—and some not near, for that matter. Besides that, however, Matthew’s just always been attuned to her. Once upon a time, it used to bother her. Now she’s just accepted it for what it is; now she actually sort of _thrives_  in it. 

But it’s still amusing that Matthew sometimes doesn’t automatically acknowledge her when she catches him doing something that’d be otherwise occupying to a normal person. He just continues on like he didn’t hear the click of her heels stepping out of the taxi and walking up to his apartment, or even the sound of her opening the door and coming inside. It’s actually amusing. She’s also not sure if he’s doing it for any of their benefits or to just pretend to be some semblance of _normal_ , no matter how inconsequential, but she’s not really complaining. It gives her a chance to admire the view.

She does that now. She’d entered his apartment a few minutes ago, only to stop dead in her tracks at the sight of Matthew doing reps, shirtless and sweaty and muscles flexing. Of course, she’s noticed the pull-up bar attached to his doorway a number of times, she’s just never seen him use it before. And now, as she leans against the wall and blatantly stares as his biceps bulge and perspiration runs down his neck, she realizes it might be a good thing she hasn’t. If that were the case, he’d probably never get a full workout again.

Well, at least not in _that_  sense. There are many other ways Elektra can think of to get a good sweat in. Fun ways. 

She hums lowly, delightedly, at that thought.

“H-how long have you been standing there?” Matthew asks, not faulting in his exercise. The way he pants through the sentence sends an excited thrill up her spine.

“Long enough to enjoy the show,” she says, pushing off the wall and moving to stand before him. “Are you saying you didn’t notice me? Getting sloppy, aren’t we?”

He grins. They both know he very well knew she’d been there the whole time, but he rolls with it. And so do the muscles in his abdomen as he does another rep.

He jumps down from the bar and Elektra almost pouts in disappointment. His chest is heaving admirably, though, so it’s enough to satisfy her a tad bit longer. “Always happy to please the crowd,” he replies, picking up a bottle of water from a nearby table and taking a long swig. Elektra observes the tendons in his neck with a piqued brow, and when he moves to grab a towel, she stops him with a hand on his own.

“Allow me,” she says, and he doesn’t argue, but she does notice how his figures twitch in want.

She starts at his neck first, slowly wiping away the sweat and not daring to look one inch away from her task even though she can feel his unseeing gaze trained on her. It makes her hold back a shiver, because she swears it’s almost like Matthew _can_  see her sometimes. He sees the real her, not the different incarnations of a woman everybody else wants to see. But right now his focus is twinged with desire so strong that she can feel it beneath her hands, in the rise and fall of his chest and the sway of his adam’s apple as she runs the cloth across his throat and he swallows. 

His shoulders call to her next, then his arms, and then his chest. She makes slightly faster work of them if only because she’s eager to get to the swells of his stomach, to hear how his breath might hitch when her bare fingers brush against his navel. Sure enough, it does, and Elektra quirks a smile before venturing lower, fingertips barely tucked into the waistband of his shorts.

Matthew waits for her to do something, anything, because his hands keep making aborted movements at his sides like he can’t keep from touching her any longer but also doesn’t want to stop her ministrations. Like he’s curious where she’s going to take this. 

With a devilish smile, she removes her hand completely from his body and straightens, tossing the towel aside and leaving him blinking and confused. 

“I think it’s time for a shower, hm?” She suggests, heading toward the bedroom.

He looks adorably perplexed. “Elektra—”

“Matthew, you didn’t let me finish,” she tuts. “I meant _together_.”

She turns around without another word and starts undressing as she walks, and doesn’t have to glance back to know that Matthew’s following her.

**Author's Note:**

> listen i just finished season 2 of daredevil and got caught in purgatory because of these two, and then i come on here and find that their tag is virtually dry of fics? i could've cried there is so much to work with between matt and elektra and there's not nearly enough people taking advantage of that omg
> 
> anyway, i'm going to be accepting prompts indefinitely. either drop em here or on tumblr. you can find me at **romannoff**! even if you don't have prompts, feel free to just stop by and talking to me about your mattelektra feelings my friends!
> 
> also, if you want to see any ask prompts i've reblogged for you to potentially submit (such as the numbers one), go [here](http://vrataski.co.vu/tagged/fic+ref).


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